


Ruthless Pursuit of Life

by Katstories



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2003)
Genre: End of World AU, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-10-27 20:31:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20766533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katstories/pseuds/Katstories
Summary: A world destroyed finds itself new heroes, with help from the most unexpected source.





	Ruthless Pursuit of Life

The first and last thing he remembers is blue. He isn't even sure what blue is; there isn't much in his head yet, but there is blue. Sort of cerulean blue, if there is such a thing. Of course he's not sure because he doesn't have real thoughts just yet. But the thing in front of his eyes is blue. 

And then it isn't.

An indeterminate time later, a dark blur focuses to show a face surrounding the blue. Of course he doesn't know what a face is yet, along with the idea of colors, but there is this face and it has blue eyes. 

Another lighter blur comes into focus, gently moving aside the blue. This one has black eyes. At least he thinks that’s correct; things are starting to come into greater focus now. 

"Hello my boy," the face says. Teeth suddenly flash, making him flinch. 

(...)

"I'm your Father. Don't worry, we'll get this programming done and you'll be right as rain."

(...)

"Vic, if everything is ready, start the downloads."

"Yes Sir... Sir are you sure about this?"

"Of course Victor, of course I'm sure. He needs to live." 

Chuckle. 

"Should we be all dramatic? Throw the switch!" 

Chuckle. 

"If there were switches. Just start the programs, my baby boy needs to live."

"Sure Sir, if you're sure."

(..!..) PAIN!

"Programs are running Sir."

"Excellent. Shut down the unnecessary lower and higher functions so he can absorb faster." Blurred face again. "Good night my boy."

PAIN!

DARKNESS!

Noise! Endless, endless streams of noise.

oo00oo

LIGHT!

"Good day my boy, how are you?" 

Chuckle. 

"Oh, I've forgotten, we still have to decant you and take the Pharynx tubes out. Don't worry, you'll be getting out shortly, your muscle structure adapted to the stimulation so I've increased the dosages and stimuli; you'll be good in no time."

DARKNESS!

oo00oo

Sounds... sounds... all sounds vibrate through the solution as it drains.

His throat hurts. Tubes long in place are finally removed, wires left in, appliances removed. 

First wobbly steps. Something scratchy thrown across shoulders and back, everything is so sensitive.

"Good, good my boy, excellent! You're moving quite well. Let me adjust the robe; I'll get you into clothes soon enough." 

Father, he's supposed to call him Father, he thinks.

Weird sensation of cool air, slight moisture filling nostrils and lungs. Lungs?

Breathing, he thinks. He's doing something called breathing. As he thinks on the word, thousands of texts and images come to mind as to the scientific and life bearing requirements of breathing. Yes, breathing, he thinks, breathing is good.

He tries to speak, but a grating sound come from his throat; he’s confused by that for a moment.

"Oh don't try and speak my boy, it will take some time for your trachea to heal. You should be fine in a few hours or so." 

Warm arms, warm body, and cold floor. Sitting, something, chair? Yes, chair. Trachea, he thinks, and suddenly sagittal views of the Pharynx start rushing through his mind. Yes, Laryngopharynx and Vocal fold are abraded, healing will take time, he thinks.

He’s thinking a lot, he thinks. 

He hears something from the left, just beyond the Sir/Father. He looks past Father's shoulder. There is another person, male, with blue eyes that are happy (?) to see him. The owner of the blue eyes has a body a shade of green he doesn't know how to identify yet, and that body is bouncing a little excitedly from foot to foot. Just beyond blue is a man. Information regarding male/female species tumbles through his mind. Yes, male, he thinks. 

But what is the other, the blue, which the question doesn’t compute, at least not yet. He looks down at himself, he too is green, but a different shade(?) yes that word is shade, than blue. Looking up he notices that blue/green points to something off to his left. Left? Yes, that is left, right, forward, backward...several thousand concepts for movement tumble though his mind, making him cross his eyes in discomfort. He looks to his left, there are two more large tubes, similar to his own, a green tinted thickish fluid swirls around the forms in each of the tubes. One small and lighter green, the one beside it in the other tube is larger and a darker green. He looks back at the blue/green one, who smiles widely at him. “Brothers,” Blue/green says with utmost certainty. He feels himself nod in understanding, he, they are not alone.

"Ah Victor, I couldn't wait, I decanted him early; sorry you weren't here lad."

Victor, that male is Victor, or Vic. Father has called him that; other things as well, he thinks. There are rough memories of conversations not held with him. He looks at this male named 'Vic' and finds his gaze disquieting; something is off about it. Images and information regarding body language and the reading of flutters across his mind. Although he understands the text, the concepts are currently difficult to render. But there is something and he does not like the response it generates within him. However the other individual, male with blue eyes, his body language denotes happiness and hope. 

"Victor, did you bring what I asked for?"

Victor's eyes tear away from him; he clears his throat, "Yes Sir. Though I think he's a bit young for champagne."

"Nonsense boy, we toasted with champagne with the decanting of Blue,” he nods towards the smiling second boy coming towards them. “Though, like all of them he couldn't get drunk if he wanted to. It's for us to toast him, to toast our newest success Vic. We've done it!" 

The Father stands away from his creation, crossing to briefly hug the younger man and clapping him on the back in good humor. "He’s perfect my boy, perfect." Father returns to him, gathering his larger hands into his. "He's perfect, his mind retains all information downloaded and observed. We recreated his genius level intellect, he's just as fast and as strong as Blue and he won't age, they wont break, they’ll heal. They’ll be everything this world needs." He pauses and steps away, murmuring. Only his superior hearing allows him to hear, "He'll never be a victim, they’ll never be victims again."

"Come my boy, crack open that bubbly. Today we celebrate life, my second son is alive!"

oo00oo

“Purple, why isn’t the bird breathing any more? Why did it die?” Red asks, holding aloft a small mangled wren, writhing with maggots.

"Oh my, Red!” Purple looks at his younger brother, the sad look seems out of place. Before Purple can answer, Father has come over to look. 

“Oh child, good question! We’ll have to discuss that inside. But put that down dear boy. It was probably killed by a cat or another animal." He glances about then takes the small specimen away from Red and places it into the trash. "You should wash your hands my child, no sense in bringing germs into the lab."

“You must also wash Father, you touched it as well. But why do you throw it away, can we not awaken it?” Purple asks, looking curiously at the trashcan. “You gave us life, can we not do the same for the bird?” 

Red peers into the trash can looking curiously, if not a little angrily, at the bird, as if his sour expression could bring back the tiny thing.

Father clears his throat, "Ah no my children, we can't bring back anything else. You’re all very special cases." 

He steers them towards the outside laboratory doors. "We should go in my child,” Father says as he playfully rubs Red’s head, “that’s enough training for today...” 

A groan resounds from Blue and Orange. 

“... we don't want to catch anything." Their father looks over his shoulder towards a long line of fences fretfully.

oo00oo

"Orange! Come away from that!" Father sounds terrified, running towards him, towards his new friend on the other side of the fence. 

His new friend doesn't talk much, in fact it mostly moans and tries to gnaw on his hand. He was surprised when it's horrible mouth bit down on his fingers, trying desperately to sever them; he had punched it in the mouth, startling and knocking it back a few feet, completely removing the lower jaw. It had now crawled back towards him making a second attempt. The few gnaw marks and the scrape damage from its teeth ripping across him has healed quickly and now he laughs at his new friend trying to worm its way between the wires.

Suddenly Father is there howling at him and Orange stares at him in confusion as Father places the barrel of a 45 against the his new friends head. He pulls the trigger, splattering brains and other coagulated juices across the grass behind it. Orange flinches away from the sound of the gun going off so closely to his ears and the stench of cordite sears his nostrils; his hearing rings momentarily until the eardrum heals.

"Did it bite you? Did it bite you!" Horrified, he turns, grabbing Orange’s shoulders in hand, shaking him. Why is father scared?

He's confused but manages a small laugh; Father has never reacted like this before. It's surprising him and throwing him a little off balance. "It bit me earlier Father, but look." He raises his perfect hand, "See the damage healed instantly, in fact I severed its lower jaw when I punched it."

SLAP! 

He is unprepared for the sensation that assails his nerves and the sound that shatters his other eardrum. 

Orange’s head is rocked to the side and he blinks in surprise more than pain. Did Father just hit him? He looks at Father confused and hurt and a bit angry; but not by the slap. In fact Orange isn’t sure where the emotions are coming from.

Father is shaking in fury; he grabs Orange roughly by the arm and hauls him behind him towards the facility. "NEVER, NEVER TOUCH THOSE THINGS! They are zombies, undead; they are a plague, blight, a curse on this land! They are NEVER to touch you, you’re not ready for it! You and your brothers aren’t ready for it! Do you understand me!" He's howling at him, spittle flying into Orange’s shocked face. He's shaking him like a rag-doll, "DO YOU UNDERSTAND? You are never to touch them again, they are abominations, dead!" 

He grumbles as he drags him along, "Good little boys don't play with dead things." Father drags a stumbling Orange back into the mats of the outside dojo, much to the surprise of his siblings; their practice had come to a screeching halt at the gunshots report.

"But Father, Victor says we’re dead, all the time,” interrupts Purple. 

Orange continues, “Why shouldn't we play with and make friends with the...zombies?" The word Zombie calls up thousands of texts and images, citing why it's actually a horrible idea to try and make friends with a zombie. OH, he thinks, oops. But then, that does explain all of the downloaded combat scenarios and constant physical training...

That stops Father in his tracks. "What did you say? What did Victor say?" He's stopped dragging Orange, looking at Purple, but now Father's shaking for different reasons.

Purple blinks at Father for a moment. Perhaps Victor hasn't been telling Father everything he tells them during their 'observation' time. Orange pulls carefully out of his Father's unresponsive grasp and straightens his shirt. 

"Victor tells us we’re dead and abominations quite frequently,” Purple states, as if lecturing. Father notes how Red and Blue nod their heads in acquiescence. 

Orange pipes up, “Vic sometimes says that we’re dolls or toys. He had said that ‘toys like myself are only good for a few things’.”

Blue interrupts, “Though we discussed it with him and that type of conversation ceased a few years ago." 

Orange attempts to brush some brain matter off his shirt but only succeeds smearing a rusted streak across the front. He ‘tisks’, now he’ll have to remind Father they will all have to go through decontamination procedures; now that he fully understands what those are for as well.

The boys look at Father, realizing that Victor has apparently not been telling Father about their sessions. Purple sighs gently, walks up and places a large hand on his Father’s shaking shoulders. 

"Father, Victor treats us as the lab creations we are, nothing more, nothing less. He gave me Modern Prometheus to read years ago." A small flock of birds passes over, casting shadows across his face. "Since then I have read thousands of books upon the subject. Though our discussions regarding souls is interesting, he feels that we are ourselves, undead and therefore without a soul." Purple sighs, "Although, I have shown him the scientific proof that we cannot be undead since we maintain all of our vital functions, including the capacity for learning, creativity and love, even if we will never be able to procreate."

Blue looks again at Father, realizing now that the look on their Father's face has gone from horror to boiling anger. Purple looks into Father’s black, angry eyes, a few years ago, they had all outpaced their Father in height. "I'm sorry Father; I had assumed he spoke with you about his observations and findings after each session. He has been your lab assistant all this time; I assumed he shared his findings. I wasn’t aware," Purple waves at his brothers, “we weren’t aware that Victor's sessions with us were something you didn’t know about.”

"My boy,” Father looks at Orange and then at the rest of them; “has, has," Father can't seem to get the words out.

"Sex?" Orange answers the unspoken question. Ah, he read that right, Father flinched. 

Blue answers in his stead, "No Father, we have forbidden it. He attempted it years ago but I made sure of his complete understanding of the situation and instructed him that I would not allow it." 

"He what? He tried to, to, rape you? Any of you?” Father's hand tightens on the 45. Red gently lays his hand across his Father’s and very carefully removes the gun from his fingers. Father looks rather surprised and pleased for a moment at how deftly Red disarmed him but his face clouds back over, his voice hoarse and low. "Did he rape you?" Looking at Red, then at Orange, Blue and Purple.

Red holds the gun against his leg, safety on. "No Father, as Blue said, we didn’t allow him to.” 

Purple adds in, “He thought he had the right to since he helped create us, but we clearly explained his misunderstanding of the situation. He has not brought it up since then."

Father sinks to his knees before them, his arms stretching wide to bring them to him. His hands take a hold of Red’s free hand and he gathers the others into an embrace. "I'm sorry, my darling children. You are not just laboratory creations, you are my sons," he whispers. "If I had known I would have gotten rid of him." 

Blue pulls Father to his feet, and gently kisses his forehead. "Father, perhaps we should have this conversation indoors after we go through decontamination.” 

Orange pipes up, “You kinda didn’t tell us much about zombies living on the island.” 

Purple adds, “And that information will need to be rectified." Red quickly removes the clip and the chambered bullet from the pistol and tucks it into his belt. 

Blue picks up the conversation, "However, regarding Victor and his unscientific viewpoints, that should take place inside where we can talk over tea and unbloodied clothes." 

"Yes, yes, sorry. Of course, let's go inside. Then you can explain to me all about Victor and his unscientific observations." There is an undertone to their Father's comments that concerns them. After all, if they are unperturbed by Victor’s actions, Father should be as well. Then again, he is their Father and from what they understand, Fathers are protective of their children.

oo00oo

"Children, come." Father's breath wheezes with each inhalation. Blue, Purple, Red and Orange had not actually moved from his side in the last twenty four hours, but their Father's eyesight had deteriorated earlier than his health. At ninety seven the rest was failing and no amount of Purple’s technological tinkering was going to stop the Grim Reaper now.

"We’re right here Father, can I make you comfortable?" Purple carefully plumps pillows around Father’s thin body, his ears and eyes taking in the medical data as it spills from the computers. Not long now.

"My boys, I need to give you something," Father wheezes, "I never gave you your names, I need to let you know who you are, my boys."

Orange smiles and caresses his Father’s face gently, "Father we know who we are, we’re your sons." And although Father can’t see it, Orange smile encompasses the love he has for his brothers and the old man. 

"More than that, you are everyone’s sons," he wheezes out a chuckle, like he did in the old days. "You were created from the cells of the last survivors on the island, you are everyone’s children mixed with the DNA of the four best warriors I have ever known." 

Now Purple’s confused, and he doesn't like to be confused. "Father, what do you mean the survivors, why haven't you said anything before? Where are the others? Why is there only the five of us?" Purple’s a bit mad right now, it's been only them and Father for the last fifty six years, if there were more people on the island he really wanted to meet them. 

"Dead, all dead," cough, cough. "All undead. Those poor souls trapped on the island with us, those are the last of us and soon I'll join them as Vic did years ago." 

"Father, please explain quickly, your vitals are dropping." Blue grits his teeth, rather emotional and surprisingly not prepared for this conversation.

Cough, cough. "We were a government research group, trying to find the secrets of life, a way to protect our world from outside forces, cures for diseases, all sorts of highbrow thinking. We had begun to set up this island as our refuge from the building war and the world beyond but there was an accident in the lab while you were still in embryonic production. Anyone caught in the release of the virus died. But we didn't know that by next day they arose as undead. It caught us all by surprise and we survivors tried to eliminate all of the contaminated as quickly as possible." More coughing.  
Purple looks over the machines; oops, vitals dropped there. He releases a little more adrenaline into the drip. 

”Okay Dad, spill,” is Red’s brief terse request.

Cough. He places a hand on each of them as he speaks. "Leonardo, Donatello, Raphael and Michelangelo, those are your names. Named after the best warriors, the most noble and heroic mutant turtles I’ve ever known, I wish I could have called them friends. Years ago when we fled to the island, we didn’t know we had left the contagion on the mainland. Here when more died we put bullets in their brains and dumped the bodies, but by then it was too late, we were all contaminated." His hand grasps Orange’s, no Michelangelo’s in a weak grip. "Except for you four; your DNA is made up of everyone's pure samples prior to the accident and those four mutant turtles. And as we designed and found out years ago, you're all immune to the zombie contamination." Cough.

"Boys, when I die, you'll be all that's left. Our legacy to the world in its fight against the undead, against the horror we created in our arrogance. Our legacy of life beyond life. When I die, you need to get the files from the servers, download them into your heads and then kill everything on the island." Father's getting a little animated, his heartbeat jumps, but not in a good way. "Kill everything. Burn the lab and burn the island. You'll have to make it to the mainland. A boat, nautical charts, maps and coordinates are in the files as well." More coughing, Purple, no Donatello, struggles to put the oxygen mask back over Father’s face. 

"Leonardo," he says muffled, "you have to shoot me in the head once I die. I don't want to come back, not like that. Can you do that for me?"

"Yes Father, I can do that." Easily. Unfortunately, a small blessing for fifty decades of training and a low emotional threshold. Shit, that didn't matter, he was crying now, they all were; it was oddly comforting though, knowing that even experiments could cry.

"All the information you need is in those files," Father waves a hand over to the steel briefcases and huge data processors in the other wing. "Get the weapons, take our information, get out and keep on living. You'll be around a long time my boys." His hand reaches out, Raphael’s strong one takes it in his, Michelangelo gently takes his other. The monitors checking Father’s vitals jump momentarily and his hand spasms. Really not long now.

"I will Father, I mean, we will. We’ll load them into our memories. We’ll get out and live. I promise you Father, we'll live." Leonardo kisses Father gently on his forehead, the same spot he's going to have to put the bullet for maximum efficiency. "I love you Father, sleep well."

Weakly, he replies, "I love you my sons. My strong, wonderful sons." ...................

And then it's over. 

They’re alone. 

Raphael unhoslsters his .45 and hands it to Leonardo. Leo gives himself the seconds needed to grieve and then puts a 45 caliber incendiary round through Father's skull. He nods gratefully at Raphael and briefly hugs his brother. In turn Donatello wraps Michelangelo in his strong arms as his brother sobs out his sorrow; orange eyes overflowing with tears. Donatello’s purple eyes brim and shine with unshed tears, there is simply too much to do and grief has been a long time coming. 

Donatello hands Michelangelo over to Raphael to continue comforting the youngest. True to his word, he opens the briefcase. In among the scientific documents are their Father's last gifts to them, passports, birth certificates and social security cards; cred sticks flashing balances that would keep them well kept for dozens of years. 

Another case is larger, longer; Donatello opens it and calls his brothers over. Inside are weapons, the ones that the boys specialized in; that they had taken pride in learning. Donatello takes out a foot long metal rod and with a flick of the wrist it expands into a seven foot staff, a press of a button and a blades ejects from the ends. Leonardo reaches in and removes two beautiful katanas; they practically sing as he removes them from their sheathes and completes a quick kata. Raphael reaches in and gently hands Michelangelo a pair of nunchacku. Michelangelo smiles and hugs them to him with a sniffling sigh. The last things removed are a pair of twin sai; Raphael smiles and gives them experimental spins and thrusts. 

“Hey, look,” Donatello calls his brothers' attention to an engraving on the handle of his naganata, he smiles: To Donatello with love, Father. John Bishop. Each of the boys search over their own weapons and find similar inscriptions of love. In another case are sets of .45 also engraved. In another case, Donatello pulls disks and chips out. Ah the files. 

Leonardo clears his throat, “Donatello, before we get started, perhaps we should bury Father.” 

Donatello rolls his eyes, having gotten caught up in the pursuit of knowledge. “Of course brother, of course.” 

Raphael looks between the three of them, “I’ll get the shovels, Mike you pick out a spot for Dad, okay?” 

Michelangelo looks questionly at Raphael, “Mike?” 

Raphael shrugs, “Yeah why not,” he points at each of his brothers. “Leo, Don and Mike, makes things easier.” 

Michelangelo looks at him, “So what do we call you?” 

Leo answers for him “Raph, I think that would be appropriate.” 

Raph nods and walks away, the storage shed and the tools within waiting. The burial is quick, efficient and quiet. Unsure if burial was appropriate, Donatello speaks up, but Raphael points out they were going to scorch the island eventually, so it didn't really matter, per se.

The files are pulled and Don sets up each of the boys for download; waiting until Leo is done before hooking himself up and blanking out for a few minutes. Every moment of the scientists’ lives, all of the personal and private information about John Bishop’s life; all of EPFs technology, schematics and scientific information regarding their creation. The complete history of their tiny blue planet and the aliens that have come before and are present now; and information on four mutant ninja turtles and their lives up to a hundred years ago. After storing it all as permanent memory, Don opens up the computer and searches for the latest information and comes across, through rather antiquated wireless, the Internet. This information super highway is ridiculously slow using the primitive settings. The thing called Internet has potential but it's a giant mess; bulletin boards, ads, cat videos, poorly edited military videos, alien invasion footage. In a way it reminds him of his infancy, while programs were still learning from their code. 

The boys quickly piece together the world at large through the various media, satellite data and alien transmissions Don intercepts and coordinates from space. Leo sets his sights on the closest landmass and goes about planning how much in rations they're going to need from the Hydroponics labs; even with their efficient systems they will still need water and food. Contamination might be something their highly evolved systems can root out, but becoming sick while on the hunt would be disastrous. Discussions regarding rations, possibly high contamination sites, alien enclaves and other ideas go on for days until they reach agreement. 

Then they go about gathering up zombie eradication equipment.

Bullets, although easily made are in short supply, so it will be hand to hand. Or more specifically hand to sword, staff, sai and nunchuck; machete, baseball bat, shovel, stop sign, hockey stick and any other implement of destruction they can put their hands on. Very carefully they lock the labs behind them. They briefly embrace, discuss the tactics one more time and then each walks away, taking a cardinal point. Leonardo, Donatello, Raphael and Michelangelo walk out into the wilderness of the island to confront the remains of their forbears.

Days later, Michelangelo returns to the labs, bloody, practically naked, battered but alone. He waits for two days before Donatello shows, Leo appears another three days afterwards, for Raphael they cautiously wait a week before he shows up. The dinner that night is one of relief and reminiscences of fond memories. They spend one more night in their childhood beds, holding each other tight knowing there is truly nothing left on the island but them now. 

The gathering of supplies takes the remainder of a week; Donatello checking the weather reports for the best time to sail. Supplies for their long exodus towards a new land are loaded, sails are checked, computers and rooms gone through one last time. Accelerant is laid down, gas taps opened, chemicals strewn about. As one, they set the det-cord line and light it, running at a steady pace towards the boat landing at the beach. 

The fireball demolishes the laboratory; the ensuing shockwave and debris shredding trees and vegetation within five miles of the facility. Fortunately the boys’ position at the landing is well away from the devastation. Raph points out how the chemical flames are quickly catching the surrounding trees, and within hours the entire island is alight. They watch it all from the dock, and Don calculates that once it is complete there will be nothing but a scorched wasteland where a once tropical island existed. The virus eradicated - nothing will remain of the scientists, John Bishop and the evidence of their four creations - nothing will remain at all.

Leo asks, “Do we have any navy patrolling close to the area?” 

Don indicates the negative, too many issues further in the Pacific nobody is going on to miss one small island vaporizing. 

Still they decide to avoid the shipping lanes for a few weeks. They have more than enough supplies and skills to make it all the way to the mainland. After that, Don thinks, who knows.


End file.
